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L35T9 


No.  XCI. 
FRENCH'S    STANDARD     DRAMA 


THE    TWO    FRIENDS. 


'2.  Domestic  Drama, 


IN  TWO  ACTS. 


BY     ROPHINO      LACY. 


NEW- YORK: 

SAMD  E  L    F  R  E  N  C  II , 

VI*  NASSAC-SXKiiEX. 

rRICE'  12J  CENTS. 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

AMBROSE  M ..  G.  Barrett. 

HERBERT   "     Flynn. 

VALENTINE  «     McKinney 

ELEANOR Mrs.  E.  Knight. 

Robs. "      Flynn. 


COSTUMES,    MODERN. 


STAGE  DIRECTIONS. 

R.  means  Right;    L.   Left;    R.  D.  Right   Door;   L.  D.   Left  Door; 

S.  E.  Second  Entrance ;  U.  E.  Upper  Entrrnce  ;  C.  CcnUe 

C.  D.   Centre  Door. 


0g  MBRAKY 

Y^cq  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

H23  7  _^0  SANTA  BA1UJAUA 

THE  TWO    FRIENDS. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Front  Chamber. 

Enter  Rose,  r.  h. 

Rose.  There's  brother  Ambrose  busy,  and  Valentine  ab- 
sent;  a  very  gay  beginning,  indeed,  to  any  promised  happi- 
ness. I  cannot  help  wondering  at  what  keeps  Valentine  so 
long  to-day  ;  every  other  day,  much  before  this  hour,  he  has 
always  been  at  my  side,  yet  this  day,  of  all  days,  the  event- 
ful day,  no  less  a  day  than  my  wedding-day,  he  is  away  ;  very 
pretty  conduct,  indeed.  I  lose  all  patience,  and  I  am  sure 
if  he  delays  much  longer.  I  shall  not  greatly  care,  whether  I 
am  married  or  not  I  am  neither  apprised  of  one  thing  or 
the  other.  I  dare  say  he  wants  to  keep  me  in  ignorance  of 
everything  before  I  am  married.  Well,  I'll  not  be  angry  with 
him  to-day.  but  I'll  quarrel  with  him  to-morrow  for  this,  and 
that  will  be  one  consolation,  {dock  strikes  ten)  Ten  o'clock, 
I  declare.  Monstrous!  Oh,  here  he  comes  at  last,  the  dear 
wretch  ;  I  feel  almost  inclined  to  forgive  him. 

Enter  Valentine,  l.  h. 

Val.  Ah,  my  dear  Rose,  I  thought  I  never  should  have 
got  here. 

Rose.   And  I  should  like  to  know  what  kept  you  so  long? 

Val.  Bless  you,  I've  been  to  thirty  different  places,  but 
I've  such  news  about  our  marriage.  I  have  been  to  the 
lawyers,  and  I  have  been  to  the  parsons,  and  it's  all  arranged, 
all's  fixed,  and  2  o'clock  is  to  be  the  identical  hour.  If  we 
are  a  minute  after  that  at  the  church,  we  shall  be  a  minute 
too  late. 

Rose.  At  two  o'clock  V  that:s  a  long  time  to  wait,  Valen- 
tine! 

Val.  Pho  !  the  time  will  soon  pass  away,  our  happiness 
will  be  complete,  our  fates  will  at  last  be  joined,  and  oh,  my 
lovely  Rose.   (Going  to  embrace  lier.) 


6  THE    TWO    FRIESD3. 

Rose.  Now,  Valentine,  do  behave,  and  be  patient,  will  you  1 
there  will  be  plenty  of  time  to  show  affection  when  we  are 
married,  you  know. 

Val.  Well,  but  Rose,  let's  be  happy  now,  the  time  ap- 
proaches quickly,  so  let  us  keep  up  our  spirits,  and  be  merry 
and  gay. 

Rose.  Be  gay  indeed  !  I  wonder  how  you  can  talk  of  such 
a  thing.  I  am  quite  nervous  when  I  think  of  such  a  thing. 
Marriage  is  a  very  serious  affair.  I  am  very  serious  about 
it.     I  can  think  of  nothing  else. 

Val.  That's  just  like  me,  for  I  can  think  of  nothing  else. 
I  had  no  sleep  last  night,  nor  I  can't  remain  two  minutes  to- 
gether in  the  same  place.  I've  been  all  in  a  tremor  ever 
since  the  day  was  fixed.  Ah  !  now  the  fatal  hour  is  drawing 
nigh 

Rose.   Hey  !  the  what,  Valentine  1 

Val.  Fatal !  did  I  say  fatal?  Oh,  no  ;  the  rapturous  mo- 
ment, I  meant. 

Rose.  Yes,  Valentine,  and  if  you  have  to  go  any  where 
else,  don't  be  out  of  the  way  at  the  time,  but  remember  two 
o'clock. 

Val.  Remember !  bless  you  I  shall  never  forget  it ;  I'm 
80  happy,  that  everything  around  appears  to  me  like  a  dream. 

Rose.  Indeed  !  It  must  be  a  very  pleasant  dream  then,  I 
trust. 

Val.  Oh,  yes,  very  agreeable !  though  1  feel  as  if  some- 
thing was  the  matter  with  my  head  ;  it  spins  round,  and  I 
look  at  everything,  but  can  see  nothing,  just  as  if  I  was 
asleep  with  my  eyes  open. 

Rose.  Then  I'll  advise  you  to  wake  as  fast  as  you  can. 

Val.  Oh  !  I'll  be  bound  that  marriage  will  waken  me ;  but 
where  is  Mr.  Ambrose,  your  brother  ? 

Rose.  Oh,  he'll  be  with  us  in  a  minute  or  two.  My  dear 
brother,  how  kind  he  has  acted  towards  us.  Oh,  I  shall  never 
forget  how  much  I  owe  him. 

Val.  And  how  much  I  owe  him,  too.  I  am  indebted  to 
him  for  all  the  happiness  I  now  enjoy.  Did  he  not  give  you 
tome?     Oh,  my  sweet  Rose.   (Going  to  embrace.) 

Rose.  Be  quiet,  Valentine,  and  leave  me  alone  till  after 
we  are  married.  Ambrose  is  as  you  say,  a  dear,  kind  brother, 
and  my  heart  does  so  ache  when  I  think  of  leaving  him. 

Val.  What,  your  heart  ache  on  your  wedding  day,  Rose? 


THE   TWO    FRIENDS.  7 

Rose.  Why.  you  know  a  little  regret  is  but  natural.  He 
has  always  supplied  the  place  of  a  father  to  me.  he  loves  me 
dearly,  and  being  the  only  surviving  branch  of  our  family, 
he  has,  in  every  instance,  consulted  my  most  trifling  wish,  and 
this  day  I  hope  he  has  forever  fixed  my  happiness,  by  giving 
mc  to  you. 

Val.  Have  you  no  other  relative  then  than  your  brother 
Ambrose,  Rose  ? 

Rose.  None.  Our  uncle,  who  brought  us  up.  died  in 
Russia,  ten  years  ago,  leaving  to  my  brother  his  entire  pro- 
perty, who  then  came  to  England  and  settled  here,  where  you 
first  became  acquainted  with  me,  you  know. 

Val.  Yes,  and  I  don't  want  to  know  what  I  do  know,  but 
what  I  don't  know,  so  tell  me  Rose,  did  your  parents  die 
abroad  ? 

Rose.  Alas,  yes  !  my  brother  often  speaks  of  our  misfor- 
tunes before  we  came  here,  having  been  very  melancholy.  I 
was  too  young  for  them  to  make  much  impression  upon  me. 
I  scarcely  remember  their  occurrence.  All  that  I  do  know 
is  that  my  father  died  in  India,  my  poor  mother  perished  at 
eea,  and  since  their  deaths  my  brother's  attentive  care  has 
amply  supplied  to  me  the  place  of  both  my  lost  parents. 

Val.  And  now  I'm  to  be  your  future  guide  and  master. 
Oh  !  bless  you,  I'll  be  such  a  husband.  If  you  do  all  that  I 
require,  you  shall  have  everything  your  own  way,  and  when 
you  wish  for  anything,  and  I  have  no  objection  to  your  having 
it.  you  shall  have  it,  and  we  shall  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is 
long.  It's  a  long  time  to  wait  'till  two  o'clock,  Rose,  but  it 
will  come  at  last. 

Rose.  Oh  !  I  hope  it  will.  I  wish  my  brother  was  going  to 
be  married  with  us.  What  a  delightful  family  wedding  it 
would  be ! 

Val.  Ay,  and  how  encouraging  to  see  other  people  set  us 
the  example.  Do  you  think  he  has  any  thoughts  about  mar- 
riage, Rose? 

Rose.  Don't  know  what  his  thoughts  may  be,  but  I  have 
long  suspected  there  is  a  certain  lady  in  the  case. 

Val  I  know  whom  you  mean  ;  the  sister  of  Mr.  Herbert, 
his  partner.  « 

Rose.   The  same,  Miss  Elinor. 

Val.  Ay,  Miss  Elinor,  oh,  she  is  the  most  lovely  and  de- 
lightful woman  in  all  the  world,  the  most 


8  THE   TWO    FRIENDS. 

Rose.   Eh!  What!  What,  Valentine  / 

Val.  No,  no  ;  except  you — except  you,  Rose. 

Rose  Well.  I  think  you  might  have  remembered  1  was 
present. 

Val.  Why,  how  cross  you  are,  I  shall  be  having  you  jeal- 
ous too.  and  fretful,  I  suppose. 

Rose.  That  depends  upon  how  you  behave  yourself.  I 
havn't  forgot  that  you  kept  me  so  long  waiting  this  morning. 

Val.  There  again !  Well,  I  didn't  think  you  were  so 
peevish. 

Rose.  Then  you  shouldn't  say  anything  to  put  me  out  of 
temper. 

Val.  But  you  put  yourself  out  of  temper,  and  are  angry 
and  cross  for  trifles. 

Rose.  Well,  that  shows  that  I  love  you. 

Val.    Then  I  wish  you  would  love  me,  without  showing  it. 

Rose.  So  I  will  then,  and  there  {giving  Iter  hand)  now  we 
are  friends  again,  and  I'll  not  quarrel  with  you  before  two 
o'clock. 

V.al.  Dear,  oh  dear.  I  am  so  happy  !  Oh.  here  comes  Mr. 
Ambrose. 

Enter  Ambrose,  r.  h. 

Am.  Well.  Rose,  well  Valentine  ;  how's  the  market  of  love 
this  morning?  (Crosses  to  c.)  Valentine,  your  hand.  The 
day  of  joy  has  duly  arrived,  and  in  consigning  my  sister  to 
you,  I  bestow  on  you  the  omnium  of  my  life's  comfort.  Treat 
her  as  she  deserves,  and  in  the  sum  total  of  your  felicity  I 
shall  endeavor  to  forget  my  own  loss. 

Val.  Dear  sir,  you  are  so  kind  and  good  that  if  I  did  not 
respect  your  sister  for  herself,  I  should  for  you. 

Am.  Then  this  day  shall  be  one  of  general  happiness  ;  Lave 
everything  ready  ;  be  prepared,  for  the  ceremony  is  to  take 
place  at  two  o'clock. 

Rose.   Oh,  dear  brother,  thank  you.  thank  you. 

Val.  Oh,  law  !  I  wish  the  time  was  near.  I  am  afraid  if 
I  remain  idle,  till  then,  I  shall  go  almost  out  of  my  senses. 

Am.  Then  leave  Rose  to  her  preparations;  go  down  to  the 
harbor  and  enquire  whether  the  ship,  with  our  freight  on 
board,  is  within  sight  yet.  and  then  meet  me  and  we'll  com- 
plete the  contract  at  the  lawyer's,   (retire  up.) 

V  al.  I  will,  sir,  (kisses  her  hand) Good  bye,  Rose,  good  bye. 


THE    TWO    FRIENDS.  9 

Rose.  Good  bye  {calling  him  back)  Valentine  ;  remem- 
ber, two  o'clock. 

Val.  Yes  !  and  I  daresay  I  shall. remember  two  o'clock 
after  wo  are  married.  [Exit  Valentine,  l.  h. 

Am.  He'll  not  forget,  I  warrant.  In  the  mean  time  go  on 
with  your  preparations,  and  I'll  follow  Valentine  to  the  quay, 
and  see  about  my  ship. 

Rose.  Ship  !  oh  brother,  never  care  about  your  ship,  what's 
the  use  of  thinking  of  your  ship  'till  my  marriage  is  over. 

Am.  Not  care  about  my  ship  !  only  that  your  head  is  too 
full  of  matrimony  to  expect  anything  reasonable  from  you 

Rose.  Well,  well,  I'll  be  patient  now,  and  obey,  {aside) 
After  marriage  tho',  it  shall  be  otherwise !  When  you  are 
out,  shall  you  call  any  where  else,  brother? 

Am.  Yes.  I  think  I'll  just  step  and  see  if  friend  Herbert's 
at  home. 

Rose.  And  if  lie  shouldn't  happen  to  be  at  home,  don't 
forget  to  enquire  after  Miss  Elinor,  brother,   (archly.) 

Am.  (Smiling.)  Go  along  with  you,  mind  your  own  entries 
and  don't  meddle  with  mine. 

Rose.  (Laughing)  Well,  good  bye, 'till  two  o'clock,  and 
remember  to  return  early,  brother,  for  you  know  I'm  to  be 
married  exactly  at  two  o'clock.  [Exit  Rose,  r.  h. 

Am.  This  will  be  a  busy  day,  'tis  near  eleven,  at  two  Rose 
is  to  be  married — that  account  will  be  closed  and  I  left  alone, 
a  poor,  solitary  devil  of  a  bachelor.  I  wish  I  was  going  to 
be  married  at  the  same  time  with  the  happy  pair ;  marrying 
in  a  party  would  make  things  look  less  desperate.  Oh,  Miss 
Elinor,  I  wish  you  were  in  the  market,  I'd  bid  sixty  per  cent, 
above  the  invoice  price.  I  must  make  up  ray  mind  at  once ; 
there  is  no  marrying  without  a  little  trouble,  but  if  I  can 
make  up  my  mind  to  come  strait  to  the  point,  if  the  delicious 
fruit  should  be  obtainable— if  she  should  say.  yes,  I'll  become  a 
subscriber  in  the  book  of  Hymen,  but  should  she  say,  no,  I 
must  e'en  remain  a  bachelor,  and  turn  up  my  nose  at  matri- 
mony like  the  rest  of  them.  [Exit  l.  h. 
Scene  II. — Room  with  open  Centre  Doors  bached  ;  Burcaui 

l.  h.  u.  e.  ;    Writing  Materials,  Pajxr.  Ledger,  Boohs.  SfC. 

on  table  l.  2d  e.;   Chair,  l;    Table  and  Chair  r;  a   Gold 

Chain  on  Bureau;  £300  bill ;  quantity  of  Bank  Notes; 

Herbert  discovered  salted  at  table,  l.  h.,  reading  <i  letter. 

Her.  Yes,  he  asks  my  sister's  hand  in  marriage  ;  he  is  an 


10  THE    TWO    FRIENDS. 

excellent  young  man  ;  ay,  and  a  rich  man  ;  with  what  plea, 
then,  what  show  of  justice  can  I  refuse  so  unobjectionable  an 
offer?  I,  Herbert.  Captain  of  a  privateer,  no  more.  Accept 
or  reject,  I  must.  I  cannot  sport  with  the  feelings  of  an 
honorable  man.  I  will  write  to  him — it  is  my  only  course. 
I  will  inform  him  of  the  truth,  and  the  secret  so  long  kept 
from  Elinor  must  be  declared  at  last.  I  tremble  and — fire 
and  death  !  the  day  on  which  I  first  boarded  the  enemy,  and 
pierced  with  wounds,  amid  carnage  and  smoke,  tore  down  the 
conquered  flag,  I  felt  less  pain  than  in  answering  this  letter. 
(writing.)  I  cannot  proceed — I  will  not.  I  will  refer  him 
to  Elinor  herself.  And  must  I  consent  to  part  from  her? 
Oh,  no  !  her  cares  and  affections  are  necessary  to  my  exis- 
tence. How  bitterly  do  I  now  repent  the  error  I  have  com- 
mitted !  I  should  have  confided  to  Elinor  herself,  that  she 
was  not  my  sister,  but  was  fearful  that  such  a  disclosure 
would  have  parted  us  forever.  Year  after  year  has  passed, 
and  she  has  imperceptibly  grown  up  from  infancy  to  woman- 
hood I  have  concealed  from  her  the  secret  of  my  love,  and 
she  supposing  me  her  brother  regards  me  only  with  a  sister's 
affection,  whilst  I  adore  her  ;  and  yesterday,  when  I  received 
this  letter  containing  an  offer  of  marriage  from  Wilford,  I 
couldn't  help  seizing  my  pistols  with  the  intention  of  calling 
him  to  account.  It  must  be  disclosed,  and  Elinor  shall  know 
all.  Yes,  this  day  I  will  summon  up  courage,  and  Elinor 
shall  know  the  secret  so  long  concealed.  I  am  resolved. 
Ah.  she  comes. 

Enter  Elinor,  it.  n.,  embroidery  in  hand. 

El(nor.  Brother,  good  morning. 

Her.   [At  Ledger.)  What,  always  disturbed  !   (fretful.) 

Elinor.  Nay,  I  came  but  to  say.  that  breakfast  is  ready. 
(mildly  ) 

Her.  I  can't  come  yet.  I'm  busy,  very  busy,  but  you  needn't 
wait ;  nothing  hinders  you.  you  can  breakfast. 

Elinor.  Oh,  never  mind  me,  I'd  rather  wait,  I  have  no  ap- 
petite without  we  breakfast  together. 

Her.  Indeed!  forgive  me,  dear  Elinor,  I  was  busy,  my 
love,  or 

Elinor.  Oh,  yes,  I  see  that  clear  enough,  and  very  busy 
too,  for  you  have  never  bid  rne  good  morning  as  you  always 
do,  Herbert. 


THE    TWO    FRIENDS.  1  i 

Her.  Havn't  I  indeed? 

Elinor.  No,  that  you  havn't;  but  no  matter,  don't  let  me 
disturb  your  momentous  affairs  of  two  and  two  make  four. 
Dot  and  carry  one.  Nine  times  five  are  five  times  nine. 
(laugh)  Go  on  with  your  work,  and  I'll  sit  down  by  you,  and 
finish  this  little  embroidery  a*t  your  side,  (drawing  a  chair 
near  him)  oh,  but  without  making  the  smallest,  smallest 
noise  to  disturb  you. 

Her.  My  kind  Elinor  !  (aside)  Heaven's  how  can  I  give 
up  this  happiness — this  sweet,  endearing  affection  ?  And, 
pray  what  are  you  doing  there,  Elinor? 

Elinor.  Only  a  little  for  yjaiis-  brother  !  And  pray  what 
are  you  doing  ?  (looking  over)  Oh,  what  columns  of  figures, 
just  like  a  flight  of  wild  ducks  ;  what  are  you  always  poring 
over  that  big  book  for.  Herbert? 

Her.  I'm  making  up  the  accounts  for  the  inspection  of 
my  partner,  Ambrose. 

Elinor.  Well,  and  brother,  tell  me  now.  are  we  very  for- 
tunate— very  rich  ? 

Her.  Judge  for  yourself;  our  own  shares  comes  to  £5000. 
There,  Elinor,  what  think  you  of  that,  for  a  man  who  two 
years  since,  did  not  possess  a  shilling  in  the  world? 

Elinor.  Is  it  possible? 

Her.  Yes,  Elinor,  and  for  all  this  good  fortune  I  am  in- 
debted to  Ambrose  ;  he  it  was  first  lent  me  money  to  advance 
and  promote  my  welfare.  By  prudence  and  care  he  succeeded, 
whilst  I  heedlessly  exposed  the  property  he  had  lent  me  iu 
wild  and  desperate  ventures. 

Elinor.  Oh,  yes,  you  were  always  led  away  by  hazardous 
and  foolish  speculations. 

Her.  Too  much  so,  indeed ;  and  but  for  the  kindness  of 
Ambrose,  bitterly  should  I  have  paid  for  it.  It  was  but  two 
years  back,  that  we  equally  shared  our  profits,  and  with  my 
portion  I  ventured  upon  an  undertaking  against  his  advise. 
He  argued,  and  attempted  to  prevent  my  trying  my  wild 
scheme.  Well.  I  would.  I  did — it  failed,  and  I  was  ruined. 
Whilst  maddened  with  rage,  Ambrose  came,  forced  half  of 
his  untouched  share  upon  my  acceptance,  and  would  hear  of 
no  refusal. 

Elinor.  Well ! 

Her.  I  was  obliged  to  accept  it.  secretly  intending  to  re- 
turn it  to  the  noble  giver  as  soon  as  fortune  and  opportunity 


12  THE    TWO    FKIENDS. 

permitted.  I  am  now  enabled  to  repay  his  generosity,  which 
I  intend  doing  this  day.  though  he  little  dreams  of  it:  even 
my  losses  have  not  been  sustained  in  vain.  I  remember  my 
last  scheme  with  dread,  and  ever  since  that  occurrence,  1  have 
never  ventured  on  anything  without  consulting  Ambrose. 

Elinor.  There,  brother,  I  think  you  are  right ;  oh,  what 
a  good  heart  he  has — now.  more  than  ever,  shall  I  love  Am- 
brose. 

Her.  How!  lore  him?  Love  Ambrose?  (rises  and  comes 
dozen  ) 

Elinor.  To  be  sure  I  do  ;  aye.  and  clearly  does  he  love  me, 
too — he  tells  me  so  every  day. 

Her.   Tells  you  so  ?     I  never  heard  him  ! 

Elinor  Oh.no!  when  you  are  present,  he  talks  of  nothing 
but  commerce,  invoices,  cottons,  sugars  and  indigo,  but 
when  we  are  alone,  oh,  then 

Her.  Can  it  be  possible.  Ambrose,  my  friend  harbor  a 
thought  of  baseness — if  it  were  true  ! 

Elinor.   Why,  dear  brother,  what  ails  you? 

Her.  Nothing !  only  a  sudden  pain  in  my  heart !  it  will 
soon  pass  away ;  what,  suspect  my  friend,  my  benefactor  of 
unworthiuess  I  Oh,  no  !  Ambrose  feels  towards  us  both  the 
affection  of  a  brother,  but  here  is  something  of  more  serious 
import  {angrily)  this  letter. 

Elinor.  Dear  Herbert,  what  means  this  letter;  why  so 
angry  ? 

Her.  It  concerns  you.  Elinor,  as  much  as  me. 

Elinor.   Concerns  me ! 

Her.  Yes,  it  is  from  Mr.  Wilford,  the  young  officer  whom 
we  have  lately  so  frequently  encountered  in  our  walks. 

Elinor.  What,  he  with  whom  you  quarreled,  and  was 
going  to  fight,  merely  because  he  looked  at  me? 

Her.  Yes,  Elinor,  I  was  wrong  ;  he  now  asks  you  of  me 
in  marriage. 

Elinor.  Indeed!  (joyfully)  a  proposal  of  marriage !  oh. 
how  happy  I  am. 

Her.   Happy.     Confusion!   (aside.) 

Elinor.  Yes,  so  happy,  brother,  for  I  feared  it  was  a  chal- 
lenge, but  you  will  answer  it,  brother,  will  you  not? 

Her.  What  shall  I  say  to  it? 

Elinor.  Oh,  that  he  is  very  kind. 

Her.  Very. 


THE    TWO    FRrENDS.  13 

Elinor.  And  that  be  does  us  great  honor. 

Her.  Very. 

Elinor,  That  we  feel  much  gratified. 

Her.   Very  much. 

Elinor.   But  that 

Her.  But  what? 

Elinor.  That  I  don't  intend  to  marry,  but  my  tlesiro  is  to 
remain  with  you  for  life. 

Her.  Is  it  true,  is  it  possible  ? 

Elinor  Is  it  so  strange  !  Wh}',  you,  Herbert,  you  have 
determined  not  to  marry.  'Tis  true  you  never  told  me  so 
yourself,  but  I  have  heard  of  it  for  all  that.  I'll  follow  your 
example,  brother,  for  whilst  we  are  so  happy,  why  should  we 
change  ?  A  brother  and  sister  living  under  the  same  roof,  in 
amity  and  love  can  there  be  any  tiling  sweeter  in  the  whole 
world  ?      Oh,  I  am  sure  there  cannot. 

Her.   You  are  right,  Elinor,  very  right,  I  am  very  happy. 

Elinor.  Aye,  are  you  not,  Herbert  ?  do  I  not  manage  our 
little  household  very  well? 

Her.   Yes,  yes,  dear  Elinor. 

Elinor    I  am  not  extravagant. 

Her.  No.  you  are  all  goodness,  all  that  you  should  be,  all 
I  could  wish  you.  Wilford  shall  have  his  answer  ;  oh.  if  you 
knew  how  happy  that  answer  made  me. 

Elinor.  Does  it,  indeed  ? 

Her.   Yes,  Elinor,  but  were  I  to  say  why. 

Elinor.  And  wherefore  not?  Am  I  not  deserving  of 
your  confidence. 

Her.  My  confidence?  Yes,  yes,  Elinor,  and  you  shall 
know,  (aside.)  Ah  my  boasted  courage,  where  art  thou  now  ? 
This  moment  to  me  is  an  awful  one.  I  will  disclose  to  you 
that  which  will  decide  my  future  happiuess.  Yes,  you  shall 
know  all.     Never  yet  was  brother 

Am.  (Without.)  Herbert!  Where  are  you'  Capital 
news. 

Enter  Ambrose,  c.  d. 

Elinor.  'Tis  Mr.  Ambrose  ! 

Am.  Yes,  my  own  identical  self.  Capital  news.  I've  been 
to  the  harbor  ;  the  vessel,  with  that  capital  cargo  on  board, 
has  shown  signals,  and  in  a  few  hours  she  will  be  in  port. 

Her.  Indeed ! 


14  THE   TWO   FRIENDS. 

Am.  Yes,  oh  !  she's  a  capital  ship.  There  is  on  board  up- 
wards of  £2000  belonging  to  us,  on  our  own  account.  If 
we  proceed  so  successfully  we  shall  soon  be  able  to  freight  a 
vessel  of  our  own.  Then  how  delightful  it  will  be  to  hear 
persons  say,  ':  Whose  ship  is  that  2"  "  That  ship  ?  What, 
don't  }tou  know  whose  ship  that  is  ?  Why,  bless  you,  it  be- 
longs to  the  house  of  Ambrose,  Herbert  &  Co. 

Her.   Only  to  see  the  ambition  of  commerce. 

Am.  And  show  me  a  nobler  ambition  in  the  world,  than 
that  of  promoting  the  comfort  of  the  human  race,  of  in- 
creasing the  laudable  industry  of  mankind,  of  contributing 
to  the  welfare  of  the  universe, 

Her.  And  of  disinterestedly  filling  our  own  pockets  at 
the  same  time. 

Am.  Why,  to  be  sure,  that  is  not  the  most  disagreeable 
part  of  the  business. 

Elinor.  Come  now,  gentlemen,  you  must  let  me  be  admit- 
ted into  the  firm,  and  that  it  may  be  useful,  in  some  way, 
you  must  allow  me  to  christen  the  first  ship. 

Am.  So  you  shall  ;  only  let  me  caution  you  to  give  it  a 
good  name.  The  best  possession  on  change  or  off  change,  in 
trade  or  out  of  trade,  is  a  good  name  ;  it  must  be  something 
catching,  something  highsounding.  What  do  you  think  of 
the  Hippopotamus. 

Her.   Nonsense,  no  ! 

Am.   Well  then,  the  Royal  King. 

Her.  Royal  what  ? 

Elinor.  No,  Mr.  Ambrose,  it  shall  have  a  simpler  title,  it 
shall  be  called  (crosses  to  c.)  ':  The  Two  Friends."  (taking 
their  hands. ) 

Am.  Excellent !  very  good  !  I  should  have  puzzled  rny 
head  for  a  month,  and  not  have  hit  upon  anything  half  so 
appropriate.  Very  good,  and  after  dinner,  the  first  toast  we 
drink,  shall  be,  success  to  the  "  Two  Friends." 

(Herbert  and  Ambrose  say  this  together.*) 

Am.  But  you  were  at  your  accounts.  I  trust  I  have  not 
intruded      I  don't  inconvenience  you,  I  hope,  by  remaining? 

Her.  Not  in  the  least! 

Am.  Just  passing  your  door,  I  determined  to  pop  up  and 
pay  you  a  friendly  visit ;  so  having  made  up  my  mind  to 
pop  up,  up  I  pop'd — by  the  bye  cottons  are  falling ;  coffeo 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS.  15 

sales  are  good  ;  I've  had  an   offer  of  prime  indigo  at 

(whisper)  What  do  you  think  of  that? 

Elinor.  Upon  my  word.  Mr.  Ambrose,  your  visits  of 
friendship  are  more  like  commercial  conferences,  than  what 
you  term  them. 

Am.  Oh  !  bless  you.  no !  these  things  are  interesting  to 
every  one.  My  dear  friend,  I  must  apprise  you  of  one  thing. 
I  am  going  to  marry  my  sister  Rose,  to  day,  to  young  Val- 
entine, whom  you  have  frequently  seen. 

Her.    How? 

Am.   Yes,  she's  going  to  be  married  this  day,  at  two  o'clock. 

Elinor.  And  is  it  only  to-day  that  you  let  us  know.  Mr. 
Ambrose  ? 

Am.  I  only  knew  it  myself,  today!  I  saw  my  consent 
would  make  Rose  happy.  So  having  made  up  my  mind  to 
come  straight  to  the  point,  I  determined  to  complete  the 
transaction  at  once. 

Elinor.  Rather  a  hasty  arrangement,  I  think,  Mr.  Am- 
brose. 

Am.  Bless  you,  the  parties  like  it  all  the  better  for  that, 
and  I  think  too,  that  when  a  bargain  is  once  struck,  the  sooner 
you  come  to  a  good  settlement  the  better.  In  such  an  affair 
I  should  be  hasty  myself;  and  when  I  marry',  it  shall  not  be 
my  fault  if  everything  is  not  over  in  half  an  hour. 

Her.  And  pray,  friend  Ambrose,  how  did  you  discover  the 
affection  of  Rose  for  Valentine?     What  led  to  it? 

Am.  You  must  know  that  I  was  hard  at  work  at  my  led- 
ger, with  Rose  sitting  near  me  sewing,  when  I  heard  her 
sigh,  and  turning  to  her,  saw  she  was  crying.  Rose,  says  I, 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  cry,  you  put  me  out.  and  so  she  did,  for 
I  was  obliged  to  add  up  one  column  five  different  times. 
"  Now  don't  cry,  I  say."  :"  I  can't  help  it."  said  she. <:  for  Val- 
entine's going  abroad."  "  Oh,  oh  !  you  love  Valentine." 
'•  Yes.  I  do!"  You  must  know  this  Valentine  is  a  good  na- 
tured  youth,  the  son  of  old  Meltall,  the  Tallow  Chandler, 
-ho  failed  a  few  months  ago  Well,  I  saw  her  happiness  was 
^rned ;  so  having  determined  to  come  straight  to  the 
at.  I  left  my  addition,  put  on  my  hat,  and  walked  direct 
o  Valentine's.  "  Valentine,"  says  I,  "  is  it  true  that  you 
love  my  sister  ?"  *:  Yes.  I  do."  says  he  — u  And  yet  you  are 
going  abroad  ?"  "  Yes  !"  "  What  for  ?"  "  To  push  niy  for- 
tune and  return  here  in  hooes  of  deserving  her."     Hem. — 


16  THE    TWO    FRIENDS. 

"  Valentino,  suppose  I  were  to  give  you  £2000  ready  money 
down,  without  discount" — "  I'd  refuse  it,"  said  he.  '■  Oh,  but 
if  I  were  to  top  my  sister  Rose  into  the  bargain  !"  "  1  should 
be  the  happiest  of  men."  He  was  going  to  fall  at  my  feet, 
I  made  him  fall  into  my  sister's  arms  ;  he  opened  an  account 
with  her  directly  ;  a  balance  was  struck  in  his  favor  instantly. 
I  have  yet  to  go  to  the  lawyer's,  and  the  wedding's  to  take 
place  at  2  o'clock,  and  after  that  the  wedding  dinner,  and 
after  that  the  wedding  dance,  and  after  that,  the — hem — hem 
— the — a-hem.  Herbert,  my  boy,  give  me  your  hand  ;  I  con- 
fess the  affair  has  been  a  little  hurried,  but  I  hope  the  tran- 
saction will  go  off  smoothly  and  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
parties. 

Her.  I  wish  I  had  known  of  this  before,  as  I  should  have 
given  the  wedding  feast. 

Am.  What  an  extravagant  dog,  to  think  of  throwing  away 
your  money  in  such  a  nonsensical  manner. 

Her.  This  comes  well  from  you,  who  have  given  your 
sister  £2000. 

Am.  Oh,  bless  you,  that's  a  different  thing,  stock  in  hand, 
you  know.  I  must  say  that  this  marriage  is  not  exactly 
what  I  could  have  wished.  There  has.  as  I  may  say.  been 
an  error,  somehow,  crept  into  the  account.  If  I  had  chosen 
for  Rose,  Valentine  is  certainly  not  the  man  I  should  have 
selected. 

Her.   Indeed  !  whom  should  you  have  wished,  then  ? 

Am.  You,  to  be  sure  !  To  deal  frankly  with  you,  I  had 
almost  set  my  heart  upon  a  match  between  you  and  Rose, 
and  have  done  everything  to  bring  you  together. 

Elinor.  (Coi/ies  dwvii)  And  pray,  Mr.  Ambrose,  may  I 
ask  why  you  concerned  yourself  in  that  matter  ? 

Am.   Concern  myself? 

Elinor.  Yes  !  Why  endeavor  to  force  them  to  marry  in  op- 
position to  their  own  wishes? 

Am.  Force  them?  I  didn't  wish  to  force  them  ;  only  aa 
Herbert  and  I  are  friends,  I  thought  we  might  strengthen  the 
bonds  by  becoming  brothers. 

Elinor.  But  that  was  impossible.  Mr.  Ambrose,  and  you 
must  have  known  it ;  and  it  was  very  wicked  of  you,  very 
wicked,  indeed,  to  attempt  to  render  the  poor  girl  miserable. 

Am.  Miserable?  I  don't  want  to  make  any  body  misera- 
ble !  Why,  Herbert,  what's  the  matter  with  your  sister,  I 
never  saw  her  so  before  ? 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS.  1? 

Her.   Oh.  it  s  merely  friendship  for  Rose,  nothing  else. 

Am  Friendship  for  Rose  is  very  well,  but  there's  no  occa- 
sion to  snap  my  nose  off.  The  speculation  failed  ;  the  goods 
arc  otherwise  disposed  of,  but  as  for  our  being  brothers — 
hem — hem — hem ;  there  may  be  another  way  of  coming  to 
a  settlement  oa  that  head,   [looks  at  Elinor)   Hem  !  ! 

Enter  Rose  through  c.  d. 

Rose.  Oh,  brother,  what  has  kept  you  so  long?  I  en- 
quired at  your  office,  for  you.  but  when  I  found  you  were  not 
there.  I  knew  where  to  look  for  you,  I  was  sure  you  would  be 
here.  Oh,  Mr.  Herbert,  good  morning.  Good  morning, 
Miss  Elinor.  Well,  this  is  to  be  the  happy  day  ;  have  you 
heard,  eh,  havn't  you  ? 

Am.   Oh,  yes,  they  know,  for  I  told  them  everything. 

Rose  I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  I  thought  I  should  have  had 
the  pleasure  of  telling  them  myself.  Oh,  Elinor,  Valen- 
tine is  such  a  dear  little  fellow.  You  know  that  it  is  Valen- 
tine 1 

Eunor.  Yes,  Rose,  we  do  know,  and  very  sincerely  we 
congratulate  you  on  your  happiness. 

Rose.  Oh,  thank  you.  thank  you  !  Brother,  what  a  slow 
creature  you  are  ;  staying  here,  as  if  there  was  nothing  of  con- 
sequence to  be  done,  and  Valentine  waiting  for  you  at  the 
lawyer's  all  this  time,  and  I  dare  say  so  impatient,  poor  fellow 
— perhaps  he  will  go  mad. 

Am.  Mad.     Nonseuse ! 

Rose.  Oh,  but  it's  no  nonsense,  brother,  and  you  promised 
to  go  to  him  at  the  lawyer's,  you  know,  and  now  you  are 
here  instead  of  there  ;  but  you  are  always  out  of  the  way 
when  sugars  and  cotcons  are  not  in  the  question. 

Am.  What  now,  it's  your  turn  to  find  fault !  the  deuce  is 
in  the  women  this  morning.  But  I  am  going  to  the  lawyer's, 
and  what's  better,  I'm  taking  your  portion  along  with  me. 

Rose.  Oh,  that's  a  dear  brother,  you  are  so  kind  ;  but  go 
now,  will  you?  and  do  make  ha>-te,  for  it's  a  shocking  thing 
to  be  kept  so  long  waiting,  and  I  do  pity  Valentine ! 

Am.  Yes,  he's  very  much  to  be  pitied,  poor  fellow  !  Come, 
Herbert,  you  are  cashier,  so  hand  over  the  needful. 

Her.  [Taking  gold  chain  from  bureau)  First  permit  Eli- 
nor and  myself  to  present  a  wedding  gift,  to  the  bride,  as  a 
trifling  token  of  our  friendship. 


18  THK    TWO    FRIENDS. 

Rose.  Thank  you.  Mr.  Herbert,  thank  you  !     Oh,  what  a 

beautiful  gold  chain. 

Am.   Why.  Herbert,  wi.at  an  extravagant  rascal  you  are. 

Elinor.   Oh,  my  amiable,  generous  brother  ! 

Her.  Nay. 'tis  your  gift.  Elinor,  not  mine,  for  'twas  for 
you  I  purchased  it.  (retires  xnd  takes  notes  out  of  bureau ;  em- 
ploys himself  at  l.  h.  table.) 

Am.  Look  there,  now,  he  gives  you  a  gold  chain  fit  for  an 
Alderman  to  be  hanged  in.  because  you're  his  friend's  sister. 
What's  his  own  sister  to  expect  when  she's  married,  I  won- 
der %  {crosses  to  c  )  Hem  !  Miss  Elinor,  it  would  be  well  for 
you  to  make  up  your  mind,  you  have  an  excellent  example 
before  your  eyes,  if  you  would  but  profit  by  it  and  be  married, 
too. 

Rose.  Oh,  yes,  Miss  Elinor,  you  must  get  married,  {ad- 
miring chain)  it  is  so  nice;  see  how  it  shines,  don't  it? 
{crosses  to  c.)  and  when  you  are  inclined  to  treat  us  with  a 
wedding,  you  won't  want  for  lovers.  I  can  tell  you. 

Am.  No,  I'll  answer  for  that !  I  know  one  that  would  be 
happy  to . 

Her.  {Uneasy  at  Ambrose's  attention  to  Elinor)  Corne, 
Ambrose,  come  and  help  me  to  look  over  this  money.  I 
don't  know  whether  I  have  counted  it  right  or  not. 

Am.  ( Goes  to  table,  takes  up  notes,  but  lays  them  down  again 
and  comes  down  to  Elinor.)  And  those  whom  I  speak  of, 
love  you  for  yourself;  as  I  may  say  for  the  excellent  quality 
of  the  goods,  and  not  on  account  of  your  brother's  fortune. 

Her.  {Uneasy)  Now,  Ambrose,  I'm  making  up  this 
account  solely  for  you,  and  if  you  don't  choose  to  assist  me, 
I'll  proceed  no  farther. 

Am.   I'll  come,  directly;    I'm   coming,  and (goes  to 

table  and  returns)  You'll  think.  Miss  Elinor,  of  what  I've 
said  about  a  good  husband  at  your  leisure.  Hem  ! — and  if 
you  do  make  your  mind  up,  I  think  I  have  one  in  my  eye, 
that  would  exactly  suit  }"ou,  to  a  tittle. 

Rose.  I'll  be  bound  I  can  guess  the  person. 

Am.  I'll  be  bound  you  cannot. 

Rose.   I  know  who. 

Am.   You  do  not. 

Rose.   Yes.  brother. 

Am.   No.  sister. 

Her.  Come,  come.  Ambrose,  do  make  haste. 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS.  19 

Am.   (Going  to  table  returns)  You'll  not  forget. 

Her.  Zounds,  have  done  trifling  !  when  we  have  business 
in  hand  I  think  proper  attention  should  be  paid,  at  all 
events. 

Am.  Well,  well,  I  am  paying  attention  to  it ;  what  the 
deuce  is  the  matter  this  morning?  First  the  sister  and  then 
the  brother,  (goes  to  table)  let  me  see,  (counts  notes)  £1,700 
in  notes,  and  £300  in  cash.  I  suppose. 

Her.  Or  what's  the  same,  this  bill  for  the  amount,  which 
I  must  receive  from  Scrapeall,  the  merchant. 

Rose.  Oh,  pray,  pray,  do  make  haste  and  get  it,  then,  for 
Valentine's  waiting  at  the  lawyers  all  this  time,  and  it  will 
be  soon  two  o'clock.  What  tiresome  animals  you  merchants 
are! 

Am.  And  what  tiresome  animals  you  brides  are !  Come, 
Herbert,  despatch,  and  whilst  3'ou  receive  your  cash  at  Scrape- 
all's,  I'll  look  over  the  accounts  and  write  an  acquittal. 

Her.  Zounds,  there's  a  cashier  there  will  detain  me  a 
whole  hour. 

Rose.  That's  the  very  reason  you  should  make  more  haste, 
and  as  you  pass  our  door,  Mr.  Herbert,  you  can  leave  me  at 
home.  Run  fast  to  the  lawyer's,  brother  !  Good  morning. 
Miss  Elinor,  remember  two  o'clock  ;  that's  the  hour  I  expect 
you !  Mind,  not  a  minute  later,  for  we  are  to  be  married  ex- 
actly at  two  o'clock.  [Exit  with  Herbert. 

Am.  (Placing chairs)  Hem!  hem!  To  say  the  truth, 
Miss  Elinor,  I  am  not  sorry  I  am  left  alone  with  you. 

Elinor.  And  may  I  ask  why,  Mr.  Ambrose? 

Am.  What  a  plump  question  !  Why,  you  see,  Miss  Elinor, 
I  am  a  plain  man  of  business,  and  I  always  make  up  my 
mind  to  go  straight  to  the  point.  The  little  affair  I  want  to 
speak  to  you  about  is  this,  I  am  an  humble  person,  but  I 
trust  I  have  a  good  heart ;  'tis  not  a  showy  commodity,  but 
of  good  quality,  and  on  the  average,  as  fair  an  article  as  any 
in  the  market. 

Elinor.  Your  heart,  Mr.  Ambrose,  does  credit  to  human 
nature ;  it  is  great  without  pride,  and  noble  without  ostenta- 
tion. 

Am.  It  is,  I  hope,  what  an  honest  man's  heart  should  be — 
errors  excepted — Miss  Elinor.  I  have  no  great  ambition  to 
appear  what  I  am  not.  I  am,  as  you  know,  the  friend  of 
your  brother  ;  our  partnership  has  flourished,  business  has 


20  THE   TWO   FRIENDS. 

been  excellent,  but  somehow  I  feel  I  am  not  quite  so  happy 
as  I  used  to  be. 

Elinor.  How.  Mr.  Ambrose,  not  happy? 

Am.  No — yes — that  is — I  find  I  want  something  I  have 
not  got,  and  I  begin  to  think  the  article  I  require  is  a  good 
wife.  Now,  if  you  have  no  particular  objection,  we  may  soon 
wind  up  matters  to  our  mutual  satisfaction  ;  for — for — you 
are  the  woman  I  love,  and  will  suit  mo  to  a  tittle. 

Elinor.  What,  this  from  Mr.  Ambrose?  I  can  scarcely 
recover  from  my  surprise  !  make  me  an  oflFer  of  marriage — so 
direct  a  proposal  at  once  ? 

Am.  It's  my  way  of  doing  business.  I  don't  like  round 
about  transactions ;  you  are  now  duly  apprised  of  the  con- 
tents of  my  heart,  the  rest  is  easily  carried  over.  I  am  a  safe 
man  ;  not  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.  As  to  the  situ- 
ation of  affairs,  I  can  safely  say,  that  my  future  prospects  are 
good ;  my  fortune  is  ample,  my  reputation  unquestionable, 
and  my  heart  wholly  consigned  to  you,  which  if  duly  honored 
by  your  acceptance  will  render  my  happiness  complete. 

Elinor.  Mr.  Ambrose,  I  scarcely  know  how  to  express  my 
gratitude  for  the  preference  you  have  shown  me,  but  why 
have  you  not  spoken  of  this  to  my  brother  ? 

Am.  No,  I  knew  better  than  that !  your  brother  is  my 
friend,  fancies  himself  my  debtor  ;  and  if  I  had  said  to  him, 
Herbert,  I  love  your  sister,  he  would  have  replied,  "  take  her, 
she  is  yours."  No,  I  determined  first  to  ascertain  your  sen- 
timents ;  so  having  made  up  my  mind  to  come  straight  to 
the  point,  I  thought  to  myself,  I'll  speak  to  Miss  Elinor,  and 
if  she  says  yes,  we  shall  soon  wind  up  matters  to  our  satis- 
faction, and  bring  the  arrangement  to  a  final  settlement. 

Elinor.  Mr.  Ambrose,  my  frankness  shall  equal  yours ; 
let  me  not  lose  your  friendship,  when  I  disclose  to  you,  that 
I  have  no  idea  of  marriage. 

Am.  I  see  you  love  another. 

Elimor.  No,  were  I  to  choose,  you  are  the  man  I  should 
prefer  ;  but  I  must  add  that  I  am  anxious  to  remain  with  my 
brother,  and  can  only  respect  you  as  his  and  my  friend,  no 
further.  Forgive  this  frank  avowal.  I  have  no  love  for  you, 
but  shall  ever  esteem  and  regard  you — in  short,  I  have  noth- 
ing to  offer  but  my  friendship. 

Am.  Accepted !  your  friendship  then  must  satisfy  met 
{taking  her  hand)  happy  in  what  you  have  deigned  to  confer 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS.  21 

(Enter  Herbert;  stops  short  at  observing  them)  I  shall  re- 
member this  kind  avowal  with  gratitude,   (liissa  her  hand.) 

Her.  What  do  I  hear? 

Elinor.   My  brother ! 

Am.  So  much  the  better  ;  ho  will  be  delighted  at  the  state 
of  his  dear  friend,  if  you  did  but  know 

Her.  Leave  me,  sir  ! 

Am.  Did  you  speak  to  me  ? 

Elinor.   Brother ! 

Her.   Be  silent  !  meddle  with  what  concerns  you. 

Am.  Why,  what  the  devil's  the  matter  ?  Oh,  I  know,  I 
see.  Nay,  Herbert,  you  are  so  very  particular  !  If  you  are 
angry  with  me,  for  kissing  your  sister's  hand 

Her.  You  are  mistaken,  sir — deceived  ;  my  sister  is  her 
own  mistress,  and  not  answerable  for  her  conduct  to  me. 
She  may  give  car  to  any  body — every  body  ;  her  behavior  is 
to  me  perfectly  indifferent — perfectly,  perfectly. 

Elinor.   What  can  this  mean? 

Her.  But  what  I  am  angry  at,  is  having  a  partner  hourly 
neglecting  his  business,  {goes  to  table  and  looks  at  ledger)  I 
thought  it,  I  knew  it ;  the  accouut  is  not  balanced,  the  receipt 
not  signed ;  but  you  have  doubtless  had  more  pleasing  and 
more  important  affairs  to  claim  your  attention. 

Am.  Law,  what  a  foolish  quarrel  is  this  !  Whether  the  re- 
ceipt is  signed  now  or  an  hour  hence,  what  does  it  matter  ? 

Her.  It  matters  everything — every  day  it  is  the  same  ;  the 
most  serious  affairs  are  neglected,  the  most  important  con- 
cerns are  left  in  confusion.  Everything  depends  upon  my 
entire  guidance,  whilst  my  gallant  partner  is  throwing  away 
his  time  with  my  amiable  sister. 

Am.  And  it  is  at  the  end  of  seven  years  that  you  complain 
for  the  first  time  ? 

Her.  Because  there  is  an  end  to  all  things — because  such 
conduct  is  unbearable,  and  not  to  be  endured. 

Am.  Come,  come,  sir,  you  are  now  assuming  too  much. 

Her.  If  my  speech  offends  you.  sir.  you  know  your  re- 
dress ;  it  is  necessary  we  should  come  to  a  proper  understand- 
ing. This  day  you  shall  receive  the  money  I  owe  you,  in 
addition  to  your  share  of  the  profits,  and  in  future  we  will 
work  no  longer  together. 

Elinor.  Brother! 

Am.  How  ! 


22  THE    TWO   FRIENES. 

Her.  The  thing  must  end  ;  when  partners  can't  agree,  it 
is  better  the}'  should  see  one  another  no  more. 

Am.  What !  drive  me  from  jour  house,  shut  against  me 
the  doors  that  have  been  seven  years  open  ?  refuse  me  the 
hand  which  for  seven  years  I  have  grasped  in  friendship? 
You  cannot  mean  it. 

Her.  I  do  mean  it.  My  hand  is  withdrawn,  my  heart  is 
closed,  my  door  is  open. 

Am.  This  to  me,  this  to  the  friend,  who — I  could  have  suf- 
fered much — remember,  Herbert,  remember  it  is  you  that 
have  forced  me  from  your  doors,    (going.) 

Elinor.  Nay,  Ambrose,  let  me  entreat  you  not  to  go — I 
conjure  you  to  remain. 

Am.  No,  I  have  been  a  brother  to  him  ;  but,  'tis  over.  I 
trust  I  have  a  proper  pride,  and  if  ever  I  set  my  foot  in 
these  doors  again. 

Her.   So  much  the  better. 

Elinor.   Brother,  for  pity's  sake  ! 

Am.  No.     After  such    treatment,   I    should   be  a   mean 

spirited  coward  to don't  imagine   I   regret  parting  with 

you. 

Her.   Nor  I  with  you.  sir. 

Am.  No,  no,  I  can  readily  find  twenty  friends.  Twenty — 
twenty — (almost  sobbing  with  agit  xtionS  dearer  to  me  than 
you  are. 

Her.  Take  them  then,  take  them,  and  let  me  hear  no 
more  of  you.  [Exit  Herbert  l.  h.  r.  e. 

Am.  'Tis  done,  'tis  over,  and  if  ever   I  again  set  my  foot 

within  these  doors  may (going,  sees  Elinor)  heaven  bless 

you.  Miss  Elinor  ;  your  friendship  I  shall  ever  cherish  with 
kindness,  with  fondness — perhaps  affection.  Oh,  heaven  ! 
(Bursts  into  tears  and  rushes  off.) 

[Elinor  sinks  into  r.  h,  chair. 


[ENn   OP    ACT   I.] 


THE    TWO   FRIENDS.  23 

ACT.    II. 

Scene  I. — Front  Chamber, 

Tible  and  chairs  on.     Rose  discovered  in  IVcdding  dress 
sealed  at  table  r. 

Rose.  Oh  dear,  how  awful  it  is  to  wait  the  approach  of 
one's  wedding  hour  !  Will  two  o'clock  never  come  !  I  never 
long'd  for  any  day  to  end  so  much  as  this.  I  should'nt  wonder 
if  I'm  disappointed  after  all.  Valentine  does  keep  out  of  the 
way  most  unaccountably,  and  I  must  say  his  keeping  me  in 
this  suspense,  on  my  wedding-day,  is  most  unhandsome,  very 
unhandsome  indeed.  Now,  I  dare  say,  brother's  not  called  at 
the  lawyer's  yet — poor  Valentine's  waiting  there,  poor  Ro?e  u 
waiting  here,  and  it's  very  barbarous  to  be  treated  so.  when 
one's  married  for  the  first  time.  We  seem  as  if  we  were  already 
man  and  wife — for  we  are  never  together.  The  only  delight- 
ful occurrence  as  yet,  has  been  the  present  of  this  beautiful 
gold  chain.  I  wouldn't  part  with  it  for  the  world,  that  I 
wouldn't. 
Enter  Ambrose,  r.  h.  crosses  to  chair  on  l.  of  table.     Puts 

down  his  hat,  gloves,  Sfc,  in  a  ])assion. 

Am.     I'll  never  speak  to  him  again,  never,  never,  never. 

Rose.  Hey  day,  what's  the  matter  now  I  wonder,  he  seem3 
to  be  in  a  strange  taking.  Have  you  been  to  the  lawyer's, 
brother  1 

Am.  Pish! 

Rose.  Pish  !  That's  a  very  kind  answer,  on  my  wedding- 
day,  I  must  say,  when  I'm  going  to  be  married  at  two 
o'clock. 

Am.  Pooh  ! 

Rose.     Pooh  !  well  I  never  saw   such  behavior  in  all  my 
life. — 1  won't  be  treated   so,  when  £'m  married,  that  I  won't. 
[Ambrose  pnta  on  his  hat  andis  going. 

Rose.   Where  are  you  going,  brother  ? 

Am.  No,  no.  I'll  never  go  near  him.  never  again. 

[Crosses  back  and  stis. 

Rose.   Where's  Valentine  ? 

Am.   I'll  never  speak  to  him  again. 

Rose.  What.  Valentine? 


34  THE   TWO   FRIENDS. 


Am.  A  false,  unfeelin^- 


Rose.  Who.   Valentine? 

Am.  Dead  to  every  sense  of  gratitude. 

Rose.   Oh  dear,  oh  dear!     Do  you  mean  my  Valentine  ? 

Am.  Damn  Valentine? 

Hose.  (Screams)  Oh  !  he  damns  my  Valentine  ;  he  must  be 
raving  to  damn  my  Valentine.  In  the  name  of  patience, 
brother,  do  tell  me  what  has  become  of  him  ? 

Am.   I  don't  know,  nor  I  don't  care. 

Rose.  You  may  not  care,  but  I  do  though.  I  should  like 
to  know  how  I'm  to  be  married  without  him. 

Am.   Who's  to  be  married  ? 

Rose.  Why,  I'm  to  be  married  at  two  o'clock. 

Am  You  shan't  be  married.  Herbert  has  treated  me  like 
a  dog,  turned  from  his  door,  me  his  best  friend. 

Rose.  I  said  I  should'nt  be  married  after  all.  You  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  go  and  quarrel  on  purpose,  that 
I  mayn't  be  married,  but  Iwill  though,  and  I'll  be  happy,  and 
]'ll  be  gay.  (Cries. 

Am.   To  turn  me  from  his  doors  ! 

Rose.  A  pretty  turn,  indeed,  to  go  and  quarrel  on  my 
wedding-day.  But  now,  brother,  things  may'nt  be  as  bad  as 
you  say — you  may  be  mistaken,  you  know.  Remember  how 
good  Herbert  was  this  morning,  and  how  generous  he  pre- 
sented me  with  this  gold  chain,  you  know. 

Am.   You  shan't  keep  it,  take  it  back. 

Rose.  Oh  !  what,  my  chain,  my  beautiful  chain — I  couldn't. 
Indeed  I  couldn't. 

Am.  Go,  this  instant. 

Rose.  I  can't  go  out  in  my  wedding  dress,  I  can't,  nor  I 
won't.  '  [Crying. 

Am.  Go  I  say,  return  him  his  proud  present,  not  one  of 
my  family  shall  accept  the  smallest  trifle  from  one  whose 
heart  is  devoid  of  friendship  and  feeling. 

Rose.  Oh,  oh,  oh,  it's  very  hard  indeed,  that  I'm  to  pay 
fur  your  quarrels,  I  that  never  fell  out  with  anybody  in  my 
life — you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  It's  cruel  to 
make  me  cry  on  my  wedding-day,  besides  it  makes  one  look 
such  a  figure,  it  spoils  one's  eyes,  and  makes  them  look  so 
red.  [Crying.. 

[Enter  Valentine,  goes  to  Rose. 


THE   TWO  FRIENDS.  25 

Val.  Ah,  my  darling  Rose — Why,  what's  the  matter? 
what  are  you  crying  for  ? 

Rose.  I  don't  know,  nor  I  don't  care. 

Val.  You  are  not  crying  because  we  are  going  to  be  mar- 
ried ? 

Rose.  No,  I'm  crying  because  we  are  not  going  to  be  mar- 
ried. 

Val.  Not  going  to  be  married  !  (Goes  to  Ambrose.)  What 
is  the  meaning  of  this,  Mr.  Ambrose? 

Am.  What's  that  to  you — what  brought  you  here — who 
the  devil  sent  for  you? 

Val.  I'm  struck  dumb.  I  did'nt  expect  to  be  surprised 
before  marriage,  but  I  suppose  it's  part  of  the  ceremony,  a 
sort  of  Freemason's  trial.  I  have  just  been  at  the  lawyer's,  sir. 

Am.   Then  you  may  go  back  again 

Val.  Go  back,  sir?  I've  been  so  often  there  already,  that 
he  swears  if  I  come  again,  he'll  indict  me  as  a  nuisance,  but 
I  thought  after  your  kindness  this  morning ■ 

Am.  I'm  changed  since  the  morning. 

Val.   Your  intentions  are  not  changed,  I  hope  ? 

Am.  Yes  they  are. 

Val.  And  isn't  this  to  be  our  day  of  happiness? 

Am.  No.  nobody  shall  be  happy  to-day,  if  I  can  help  it— 
I'm  miserable  myself,  and  I'll  make  every  body  miserable 
about  me 

Val.  Amiable  creature ! 

Rose.  Never  mind,  don't  say  anything  to  him,  Valentine, 
I  never  saw  him  in  such  a  temper  before.  Now,  don't  speak 
to  him. 

Val.  Oh, but  I  shall  though.  I  will,  I'll  let  him  know  that 
nobody  has  a  right  to  make  you  cry  but  myself. 

Rose.  Now  don't  speak — I  tell  you  it  will  only  make  him 
worse,  I  can't  think  what  has  come  to  him,  he  used  to  be 
so  kind,  and  so  mild,  he  must  have  been  bitten  by  a  mad  dog. 
[Ambrose  again  going  off,  r.  h. 

Rose.  Brother,  where  are  you  going  now  ? 

Am.  Nowhere  ;  do  you  go,  nay  no  entreaties,  you  shall  re- 
turn that  bauble,  I'm  determined — obstinate  !       [Retires. 

Rose.  I  know  you  are  obstinate,  and  it's  very  cruel  to  vent 
your  spite  on  two  innocent  young  creatures,  who  expected  to 
oe  married  at  two  o'clock.     I  say,  Valentine,  be  sure  you 


26  THE   TWO   FRIENDS. 

don't  go  till  I  return.     I'll  run  every  step  of  the  road,  and 
be  sure  to  be  back  by  two  o'clock.  [Exit  Rosu,  r. 

Val.  She's  run  away.  I  declare  we  are  like  two  buokets 
in  a  well,  we  shall  never  come  together.  Poor  Ambrose,  if  it 
is  really  as  Rose  says.  I  feel  very  nervous.  Sir,  have  you  been 
bitten  by  a  mad  dog  ?  [Ambrose  looks  up]  Shall  I  run 
anywhere  for  you,  sir  ? 

Am.   Run  to  the  deviL 

Val.  If  you  mean  that  I  should  go  to  the  lawyer's,  sir,  had 
not  you  better  come  with  me  1 

Am.  No  ! 

Val.  I  have  been  to  the  quay,  sir,  as  you  desired  me,  and 
the  adventure  will  be  in  the  harbor  this  evening. 

Am.  Let  her  sink — I  care  not— I  was  happy  without  rich- 
es whilst  blest  with  friends,  but  now  I  find  that  prosperity 
is  not  happiness,  and  friendship  but  a  shadow. 

Val.  {ruminating  ]  Well,  I  hope  it  will  be  settled  by 
2  o'clock 

Am.  Talk  to  me  about  two  o'clock.  I  cannot  remain  here, 
I  can  scarcely  breathe,  and  my  heart  seems  as  if  it  would 
burst  my  bosom. 

Val.  Shall  I  go  with  you,  sir? 

Am.  Come  within  a  mile  of  me,  and  I'll  knock  you  down. 

[Exit  r. 

Val.  You  must  have  a  precious  long  arm  then ;  I  have 
had  trouble  enough,  to  run  into  this  family,  and  now  if  he 
continues  in  this  humor,  the  safest  thing  I  can  do,  is  to  run 
out  again.  I  hope  he'll  be  in  his  senses  by  two  o'clock.  If 
he  don't  come  back,  I'll  run  away  with  Rose,  in  spite  of  broth- 
ers, lawyers,  or  the  devil,  and  I'll   run  and  tell  her  so. 

[Exit  r. 

Scene  II. — Same  as  Act  1st. 

Herbert  and  Elinor,  discove/ed  seated.  Herbert  in  l.  chair, 
Elinor  in  R. 

Hkr.  [rises  and  walks  about  agitated.]  Friends,  fine 
friends,  traitors,  to  take  advantage  of  the  confidence  which, 
iike  an  idiot  fool,  I  reposed  in  them,  to  betray  me.  Oh, 
world,  world  !  where  rogues  and  villains  flourish,  and  guilt 
thrives  best,  the  more  it  looks  like  honesty.     To  deceive  me, 


THE    TWO    FRIENDS.  27 

who  day  after  day,  left  them  together,  and  while  I  hugged 
them  to  my  heart,  they  serpent  like  have  stung  me — but  the 
fault  has  been  my  own  ;  I  confided  where  I  should  have  dis- 
trusted     In  tears,  ay,  you  weep  for  his  departure? 

El.  Yes,  and  still  more  because  I  have  seen  my  brother 
unjust  and  cruel  for  the  first  time. 

Her.  'Twas  your  own  fault  for  deceiving  me. 

El.  Deceiving  you  ? 

Her.  Deceive  me  !  you  only  infused  "Wilford's  offer,  be- 
cause you  secretly  loved  Ambrose,  not  that  I  shall  hinder 
your  choosing  where,  or  whom  you  please  ;  but  I  feol  hurt, 
stung  to  the  heart's  core,  by  your  want  of  confidence. 

El.   Can  you  then  imagine — 

Her.  You  would  probably  make  me  believe,  that  on  this 
spo*"-.  he  spoke  not  of  love. 

El.   Why  should  I  deny  it? 

Her.   I  heard  it,  saw  it,  I  saw  him  kiss  your  hand. 

El.   What  you  saw  I  deny  not 

Her.  Then  I  saw  enough  to  convince  me  that  he  is  a  false 
villain,  who  sought  to  seduce  you. 

El.   He  offered  me  his  heart  and  fortune. 

Her.  And  I  arrived  at  the  moment,  I  suppose,  when  he 
thanked  you  for  your  acceptance  of  his  heart  and  fortune. 

El.  Hear  me  out,  Herbert,  he  offered  his  heart,  hand,  and 
fortune,  and  you  arrived  just  at  the  time  that  he  was  acknowl- 
edging his  gratitude  for  my  candor,  and  thanking  me  for  my 
friendship. 

Her.   He  offered  you  his  hand,  and  you  told  him  — 

El.  I  told  him  I  would  accept  him  as  a  friend,  but  never 
as  my  husband. 

Her.   How  ! 

El.  I  added  what  you  already  know,  that  I  did  not  wish 
to  marry,  that  I  was  anxious  to  remain  with  you.  I  own  I 
did  not  then  think  you  so  unkind  and  cruel.  Oh  !  Herbert, 
I  never  saw  you  so  wicked  before. 

Her.  What  have  I  done  ?  whither  has  passion  hurried  me  ? 
Elinor,  I  am  a  wretch  unworthy  your  friendship.  Wronged 
Ambrose,  how  have  I  treated  him. 

El.  You  have  broken  with  him  for  ever. 

Her.  No,  no, 

El.  Driven  him  from  your  house. 


28  THE    TWO    FRIENDS. 

Her.  No,  no,  I  did  not,  could  not,  I  will  not  believe  it. 

El.  Tlie  friend  of  your  bosom,  to  quarrel  with  Lira  on 
such  a  day  as  this.  The  day  of  his  family's  happiness,  the  day 
on  which  he  hoped  to  see  all  around  him  joyful,  to  send  him 
from  your  house,  oh  !   Herbert. 

Her.  Driven  him  from  my  house — my  best  friend — I  was 
mad,  Elinor,  but  I  am  so  no  longer.  Do  you  think  he  will 
return  ? 

Er..  Oh,  no  I  am  sure  he  will  not — he  has  sworn  never 
again  to  enter  your  doors,  but  were  you  to  go  to  him.  and 
holding  out  your  hand  to  him  thus,  say.  Ambrose,  behold  a 
repentant  friend,  your  hands  would  be  grasped  again  in 
friendship,  and  your  hearts  joined  in  amity  and  peace 

Her.  I  feel  I  ought  to  do  so.  but  I  dare  not,  after  what 
has  passed.  I  should  shrink  from  him  with  shame. 

El.  Then  I  will  go. 

Her.   My  kind  sister. 

El.  I  will  say,  Ambrose,  I  come  from  my  brother,  he 
grieves  sincerely  for  what  has  occurred  ;  pray,  pray,  forgive 
him  ;  let  us  all  embrace,  and  may  every  uukindness  be  for- 
gotten. 

Her  What,  embrace  !  oh,  yes,  yes,  you  are  right.  Elinor, 
very  right,  but  instead  of  going  to  him,  suppose  you  were  to 
write  and  fully  express  my  contrition.  I  think  it  might 
cause  an  earlier  reconciliation. 

El.  As  you  please,  dear  brother,  I  will  write  then. 

Her.  Do  so  ;  I  feel  far  from  well,  for  I  have  been  some- 
what overcome  by  the  events  of  the  morning,  the  air  will — 
will  perhaps  restore  me.     [Going.]     You  will  write? 

El.  This  very  moment.  You  are  not  angry  with  me  now, 
Herbert,  are  you?  [Goes  to  Heklert. 

Her  Angry  with  thee  Elinor  !  oh  !  never,  never.  (Em- 
bracing Iter  affectionately,  but  instantly  receding  )  131ess  you, 
Elinor,  bless  you.  [Exit  c.  d. 

El.  Now,  what  in  the  name  of  mystery  can  be  the  matter 
with  him  ?  I  never  saw  him  so  before.  I  feel  somewhat 
strange  myself,  yet  cannot  tell  why,  but  just  now  when  he 
folded  me  with  such  fervor  in  his  arms,  I  involuntarily 
shrunk  from  his  embrace.  I  was  very  happy,  but  it  seemed 
to  me,  as  if  I  was  doing  wrong.  Lord,  what  a  fool  I  am, 
where  can  be  the  harm  in  embracing  one's  brother !      Well, 


29  THE     TWO     FRIENDS. 

I  must  write  my  letter.  But  certainly  I  should  like  to  know 
if  all  sisters  feel  so  to  their  brothers.  I'll  question  Rose 
about  it.  the  first  moment  I  see  her.  Oh,  bless  my  heart.  I'm 
chattering  away  and  never  thinking  of  my  letter — positively, 
I  will  begin,  and  now  for  a  great  exertion  of  female  effort — ■ 
I'll  not  open  my  mouth  these  five  minutes.    [At  table  l.  h. 

Enter  Rose,  c.  d. 

Rose,  (crying.)  Oh  dear,  oh  dear  !  who  could  have  ex- 
pected this ! 

El.   Why,  my  dear  Rose,  what  has  happened? 

Rose.  You  ought  to  know  better  than  I.  since  you  were 
by  at  the  time.  Brother  Ambrose  came  home  from  your 
house  in  such  a  pet.  But  men's  dispositions  are  shocking, 
they  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  their  nasty  tempers.  They  might 
have  waited  till  the  marriage  was  over. 

El.   Be  calm,  dear  Rose,  all  will  shortly  be  settled. 

Rose.   Yes,  but  will  it  be  settled  before  two  o'clock  1 

El.  Set  your  heart  at  rest ;  Herbert  has  recovered  his 
reason,  and  I  hope  Ambrose  will  accept  his  apology. 

Rose  Hope  indeed  !  Hope  is  nothing  at  all.  I  don't 
know  what  Valentine  mil  think,  poor  fellow,  he  has  his  share 
of  the  sours ;  you  have  no  idea  how  my  brother  treated  him, 
and  he  has  commanded  me  to  return  the  gold  chain  Herbert 
gave  me.  and  I  should  very  much  like  to  know  what  occasion 
there  is  for  that — I  hav'nt  quarrelled  with  your  brother. 

El.  My  dear  Rose,  compose  yourself.  Herbert  and  Am- 
brose will  soon  be  reconciled.  I  was  just  going  to  write  to 
your  brother. 

Rose.  Oh,  do  try  to  make  them  friends  before  two  o'clock, 
the  wedding  is  positively  fixed  for  that  hour,  and  they  may 
quarrel  as  soon  after  as  they  like,  tell  them.  How  came  all 
this  hurly-burly  about,  Elinor? 

El.  I  hardly  know,  myself.  I  was  conversing  with  your 
brother,  and  I  believe  he  was  kissing  my  hand. 

Rose.  Was  that  all,  and  did  Herbert  fall  in  a  passion  for 
such  a  trifle  ?  What  a  fool !  I'm  sure  my  brother  is  a  great 
deal  kinder  than  that.  Valentine  might  kiss  my  hand  until  he 
was  tired,  and  Ambrose  would  not  complain. 

El.  Aud  would  it  cause  him  no  emotion  ? 

Rose.  Emotion  !  oh,  dear,  no.  or  if  it  did,  I  never  noticed 


THE    TWO    FKIENDo.  30 

it ;  but,  Valentine,  if  any  body  ever  looks  at  me,  he's  like  a 
little  lion,  and  he  grows  so  big  all  of  a  sudden,  not  that  that 
sort  of  humor  makes  me  love  him  a  bit  the  less,  ob,  dear  no, 
for  the  moment  he  appears  unhappy.  I'm  unhappy  too. 

El.  Ay,  my  good  Rose,  well,  and  you  equally  partake  of 
your  brother's  sorrows,  do  you  not? 

Rose.  Ob,  dear,  that's  quite  another  thing — I  love  brother 
very  well,  to  be  sure,  but  it's  not  at  all  like  the  affection  I 
feel  for  Valentine. 

El.  How  !  is  not  fraternal  love  the  best,  the  dearest,  the 
tenderest.  and  strongest  of  duties  ?  and  your  brother,  Rose,  is 
he  not  the  constant  object  of  your  thoughts  ? 

Rose.  Oh,  no,  I  can't  swear  that  he  is ;  to  be  sure,  when 
he's  in  my  mind,  I  think  of  him,  and  when  he  happens  to  be 
present,  but  my  feelings  for  Valentine  ' 

El.  Valentine  ! 

Rose.   Oh,  that's  quite  another  thing. 

El.  Now,  but  tell  me,  Rose,  when  your  brother  leaves  you 
for  two  or  three  days — well  then,  do  you  not  experience  a 
sinking  of  the  heart,  accompanied  with  great  uneasiness,  and 
deep  regret  ? 

Rose.  Not  at  all,  for  I  always  say,  he's  sure  to  come  back 
again,  but  when  Valentine  goes.  I  feel  alone,  forsaken,  as  if 
I  had  lost  every  friend  I  had  in  the  world.  During  his 
absence,  day  and  night  his  image  is  always  before  my  eyes  ; 
then  to  shorten  the  time,  I  go  and  cry,  and  make  myself  mis- 
erable, and  count  the  minutes  and  hours  of  his  absence  ;  but 
when  he  returns.  I  feel  so  much  joy  and  such  rapture  that 
makes  me  forget  everything  else,  but  himself,  in  the  world. 

El.  {Horror  struck  at  the  idea  of  her  affection  for  Herbert 
being  criminal.)  Oh  !  but  tell  me  Rose,  when  your  brother 
returns  and  embraces  you? 

Rose.  Oh,  I'm  not  aware  of  it,  but  when  Valentino  does, 
oh,  that's  quite  another  thing. 

El.  Explain  ! 

Rose.  Bless  you,  I  can't  well  explain.  First,  I  feel  a  sort 
of  fluttering,  my  ears  go  buz,  buz,  and  my  heart  beats  pit  pat, 
pit  pat.  as  if  I  could  not  breathe,  and  sometimes  I  could  cry, 
without  a  cause,  or  laugh  without  knowing  why. 

El.  Can  it  be? 

Rose.  Why,  there's  nothing  astonishing  in  it,  and  I'll  tell 


31  -  THE    TWO    FRIENDS. 

you  the  reason — the  reason  is  that  I  iove  one  as  a  brother, 
the  other  as  a  lover. 

El.  Oh! 

Rose.  Gracious  powers,  are  you  not  well  1 

El.  Oh.  unhappy  wretch  ! 

Rose.  Dear  Elinor,  I  hope  I  have  not  said  anything  to 
offend  you.  If  I  have  given  you  any  pain,  I'm  sure  I  did 
not  mean  it. 

El.  No,  no  Rose.  I  thank  you,  I  thank  you;  merciful 
heavens,  what  a  dreadful  light  breaks  in  upon  me  !  I  must 
not  hesitate,  ha !  there  is  one  way,  and  1  vnll  not  hesitate. 
Rose,  will  you  endeavor  to  see  your  brother,  and  say  I  want 
to  see  him?     Do  you  think  he'll  come  ? 

Rose.  Oh,  yes,  I  am  sure  he  will,  for  though  he  said  he'd 
never  come  near  this  house  again,  ho  was  every  moment  tak- 
ing up  his  hat,  as  if  he  could  not  remain  in  his  own.  Now 
only  see  if  I  hav'nt  said  rightly — look,  yonder  he  comes.  Do 
you  speak  to  him,  Elinor.  I  don't  like  to  meddle  with  him 
when  he's  in  these  grumpy  humors. 

El,  Leave  us,  leave  us. 

Rose.  I  will,  and  now  do  you  keep  your  promise,  and  try  to 
get  him  in  a  good  temper  before  two  o'clock.  If  he  should 
speak  of  the  gold  chain,  say  I  brought  it,  and  offered  it  to 
everybody,  but  nobody  would  take  it. 

[Going,  meets  Ambrose. 

Am.  What  are  you  doing  here  ? 

Rose.  I  a'int  doing  nothing,  brother.  (Passes  him  indoor 
way.)     I'll  go  and  comfort  poor  Valentine   till  two  o'clock 

[Exit  Rose. 

El.  Yes,  yes,  it  is  decided,  (turning,)  is  it  you,  my  deai 
sir  ? 

Am.  I  walked  out  to  take  the  air ;  passing  the  door  where 
I've  been  in  the  habit  of  coming  daily,  by  accident  I  stepped 
in — pardon  me  for  my  mistake — and  [going.) 

El.  Nay,  pray  do  not  leave  me. 

Am.  I  swore  never  to  see  Herbert  again,  but  I  did  not  say 
I  would:nt  see  you,  Miss  Elinor  ;  no.  I  never  vowed  that,  so  I 
will  remain  whilst  you  wish  it. 

El.  Thanks,  my  sincere  thanks.  I  was  going  to  write  and 
beg  you  to  be  reconciled  to  my  brother. 

Am.  What  1  after  the  manner  in  which  he  spurned  me  so 


THK    TWO    FHIENDR.  32 

recently  ;  no,  Miss  Elinor.  I  can  never  again  be  Herbert's 
friend. 

El.  Nay,  but  yon  will. 

Am.   Nay,  but  I  will  not. 

El.  Censure  his  temper  but  not  his  heart. 

Am.  To  turn  me  out  of  his  doors,  me,  his  best  friend  ! 

El.   He  is  sensible  of  his  error,  give  it  not  a  harsher  term. 

Am.  What! 

El.  Penitent,  and  self-condemned,  he  would  personally 
entreat  your  forgiveness — he  feels  the  madness  of  his  conduct, 
and  would  appear  before  you,  to  acknowledge  his  error,  but 
dares  not. 

Am.   What,  sensible  of  his  error — where  is  he? 

El.  He's  not  now  within,  but  he  will  soon  return,  and  then 
I  hope  we  shall  all  be  friends  and  happy. 

Am.  Happy,  ay  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long — stocks  are 
up  again.  Sensible  of  his  error  errors  are  always  excepted. 
I  long  to  shake  hands  with  him.  What  a  passion  he  was  in, 
and  all  about  nothing — I  must  see  him — I:ll  go  to  him. 

El.  Stay  one  moment  more,  the  better  to  see  your  recon- 
ciliation complete — aud  that  you  may  be  better  friends  than 
ever.  I  have  a  request  to  make. 

Am.    Why  speak  it !  all  I  have  in  the  world  belongs  to  you. 

El.  You  told  me  this  morning  that  you  loved  me,  that  you 
wished  to  marry  me. 

Am.  It  would  have  been  the  happiness  of  my  life  to  have 
possessed  you. 

El.  Then  hear  me,  if  you  still  love  me.  if  this  poor  hand 
has  still  any  charm  for  you.  take  it,  I  give  it  freely,  'tis  yours. 

Am.  Now,  don't  laugh  at  me,  don't  jest,  or  you'll  break  my 
heart. 

El.  I  jest  not,  I  am  ready  to  become  yours  this  week,  to- 
morrow, to-day,  if  so  it  pleases  you. 

Am.  Oh,  my  happiness  is  so  great,  so  unexpected  !  Heaven 
grant  me  strength  to  bear  it.  but  should  you  retract ■ 

El.  Never,  but  here,  (goes  to  tuLle  and  ic rites.)  to  remove 
all  doubts,  take  this  ;  my  name  is  signed  to  that  paper,  and 
be  the  contents  what  you  please,  I  will  fulfil  them. 

Am  Oh,  I'm  the  happiest  dog  in  the  world,  I'm  afraid  niy 
happiness  will  kill  me. 

El.   Be  calm,  I  must  add  one  condition. 


THE    TWO    FRIENDS.  33 

Am  Any  thing  you  like. 

El.  It  is,  that  you  ask  my  Drothor's  consent. 

Am.  I  will. 

El.   And  should  he  hesitate  ? 

Am.  Ob,  he  won't  hesitate. 

El.  Ay,  but  should  he,  tell  him  I  desire  it,  that  it's  my 
heart's  wish — do  you  hear  that  ? 

Am.  With  my  heart,  as  well  as  my  ears.  Stay,  some  one 
comes — 'tis  he  !  stay  and  hear  how  delighted  he'll  be. 

El.  Oh.  no,  pray  excuse  me,  (aside.)  iu  his  presence  my 
courage  fails  me.  {Exit,  Elinor. 

Enter   Herbert. 

Her.  My  brother  ! 

Am.   My  friend  ! 

Her.  Do  you  then  forgive  me  1 

Am.  To  be  sure,  everything's  forgiven,  everything's  forgot- 
ten, but  on  one  condition. 

Her    Name  it. 

Am.  That  we  never  speak  of  what's  past. 

Her.  Generous  man  !  But  I  must  tell  you  what  I  have 
suffered,  and  how  happy  I  should  be  to  prove  the  warmth  of 
my  friendship.  Oh,  that  the  means  of  returning  the  obliga- 
tion were  in  my  power,  that  I  might  evince  my  gratitude. 

Am.  Be  happy,  then,  you  have  now  an  opportunity,  my  long- 
respected  friend,  of  turning  the  scale,  and  throwing  all  the 
obligations  on  my  side 

Her.   Speak.      (Takes  AS s  hand.) 

Am    I  love  your  sister,  give  her  to  me  for  a  wife. 

Her    How,  Elinor?     (Drops  his  hand.) 

Am.  What,  the  devil,  are  you  going  to  open  a  fresh  account  ? 

Her.  Forgive  me,  Ambrose,  I  will  deal  openly  with  you, 
you  are  all  that  an  honest  man  should  be  ;  if  I  could  <:ive  you 
my  sister,  it  would  make  me  happy,  very  happy.  I  have  the 
strongest  friendship  for  you,  but  I  think  I  know  my  sister's 
6eDtiinents,  and  I  will  not,  cannot  constrain  her  inclinations. 

Am.  Is  that  the  only  cause  of  your  objection  ? 

Her.   The  only  one. 

Am.  Be  happy  then,  for  'twas  Elinor's  self  that  sent  me  to 
you. 

Her.  What  say  you  ? 


84  THE    TWO    FRIENDS. 

Am.   Tell  him  it  is  my  wish,  the  wish  of  ray  heart. 

Her.    How? 

Am.  She  certainly  did  refuse  me  this  morning,  there's  no 
denying  it,  hut  the  market's  up  again.  She  has  given  her 
own  consent,  and  desired  me  to  obtain  yours.  Why,  what 
tho  devil's  the  matter  with  you  ?  no  further  drawback,  I 
hope. 

Her.  She  loves  you,  you  are  sure  of  it?  She  told  you  she 
would  be  yours  ? 

Am.  She  told  me  she  would  be  mine  within  this  hour.  Call 
her.  and  ask  her. 

Her.  No,  'tis  enough.  Elinor  is  yours,  her  portion  has  long 
been  ready. 

Am.  Burn  her  portion  !  Do  you  think  I  want  any  thing 
from  you  after  a  gift  like  this  ?  I  knew  you  would  be  delight- 
ed. I'll  procure  the  license,  and  he  married  at  the  same  time 
with  Hose  and  Valentine,  those  poor  dear  children  that  I 
treated  so  harshly — hut  they  shall  be  happy  and  joyful  now — 
it  would  be  cursed  cruel  when  a  man's  happy  himself,  to  make 
others  miserable.  I'll  return  as  brisk  as  a  bee,  a  merry 
bridegroom,  the  license  in  my  pocket,  the  favor  in  my  button- 
hole, and  the  ring  in  my  hand,  my  boy  !  [Exit. 

Hkr.  Can  this  be  Elinor — Elinor  who  promised  but  an 
hour  ago,  never  to  leave  me  !  False,  perfidious — no,  no.  I 
have  no  right  to  censure  her.  Ambrose  is  her  heart's  wish, 
her  husband  !  I  am  only  her  brother.  She  shall  at  least 
learn — and  wherefore  ?  to  part  us  wider  still,  to  snap  even 
the  last  tie  that  binds  us.  She  shall  to  my  death  be  ignorant 
of  the  secret  I  possess.  Yes,  Elinor,  amid  danger  and  blood 
I  promised  thy  expiring  mother,  to  watch  over  thy  happiness, 
I  have  done  so,  even  at  the  hazard  of  my  own.  and  you.  who 
confided  her  to  me.  take  her  to  your  own  gua.rdian  care — my 
oath  has  been  fulfilled.  She  comes  !  now  up,  heart,  brave  heart 
support  me. 

Ente>-  Elinor. 

El.  {Much  agitated.)     Has  Ambrose  seen  you  ? 
Her.    He  has. 

El.   Has  he  spoken  to  you  ? 

Her.  He  has  told  me  all,  I  have  given  my  consent,  and 
this  evening  you  will  be  his  wife. 


THE    TWO    FRIENDS.  33 

El.  !Tis  past  then,  'tis  over  !  (Aside.) 

Her.  One  word  only.  I  would  not  reprove  you,  but  why 
not  tell  me  the  truth  this  morning  ? — you  then  said  you  had 
no  wish  to  marry. 

El.  True,  but  now  it  is  my  wish. 

Her.   And  what  has  caused  this  change  ? 

El.  I  cannot  tell  you.  Do  not  ask  me,  'tis  the  only  secret 
I  shall  ever  conceal. 

Her    Elinor,  you  then  no  longer  love  me. 

El.  Not  love  you?  ah,  not  love  you,  Herbert?  (Very 
tenderly,  but  instantly  suppressing  her  warmth.)  Brother, 
let  it  suffice  that  I  wish  to  marry,  and  that  I  wish  Ambrose, 
and  none  but  Ambrose,  to  be  my  husband. 

Her.  Ambrose  is  an  honest  man.  may  he  make  you  happy. 
(Takes  Parchment  out  of  bureau.)  There,  Elinor,  'tis  your 
fortune — I  earned  it — 1  saved  it  for  you.  This  is  not  the 
use  I  thought  to  mako  of  it — no  matter — 'tis  your  wedding- 
portion  — take  it. 

El.  Ah  !  brother  ! 

Her.  Would  it  were  more,  Elinor,  for  had  I  millions  they 
should  be  yours.  I  need  nothing  now.  Farewell  !  be  happy, 
and  think  sometimes  of  your  brother.  (Going. 

El.   Herbert,  whither  go  you  ? 

Her.  I  know  not  j  far  away,  on  board  the  first  bark  that 
puts  to  sea. 

El.  You  abandon  this  spot  for  me  then.  I  will  go  with 
you. 

Her.  Too  late,  too  late  ! 

El.  No,  no.  I  will  go  with  you  ;  I  will  never  part  from 
you. 

Her.  And  Ambrose? 

El.   I  care  not. 

Her    Your  love,  your  intended  husband  ? 

El.  My  duty  is  to  follow  you. 

Her.  Elinor,  listen,  and  one  word  will  root  you  to  the 
spot — learn  the  truth — a  truth  concealed  for  years.  You 
have  hitherto  known  me  only  as  your  friend,  only  as  your 
brother — 

El.  (Horror-struck  at  the  idea  of  his  beiig  about  to  declare 
a  criminal  love.)  Ah,  finish  not,  fly,  leave  me  ! 

Her.  Yes,  I  will  fly,  Elinor.  The  love  that  fills  my 
heart — 


00  THE   TWO    FRIENDS. 

El.   (With  averted  face  and  shuddering.')     Go,  go. 

Her.  May  wear  roe  to  the  grave,  but  I  will  still  pray  for 
your  happiness  with  fervency — and  since  I  must  leave  you, 
since  we  roust  part  forever,  know  that  he  who  leaves  you  is 
not  your  brother.  [Exit,  c.  d. 

El.  (In  joyful  ccstacy.)     Ha! 

Enter  Ambrose,  c.  r>. 

Am.  The  license  is  here  ! 

El.   (  Utters  a  shriek  and  falls  senseless  on  the  stage  ) 

Am.  Elinor,  revive,  revive!  (Raising  her)  What  can 
have  occured  so  suddenly  ?  Herbert,  Herbert !  Elinor,  speak, 
speak  to  roe  I 

El.    What's  the  matter  ?  What  has  happened  ? 

Am.  Compose  yourself,  your  friends  are  near  you ;  your 
brother  will  soon  return. 

El.  Who?     {Collecting  her  thoughts.) 

Am.  Your  friend,  your  brother. 

El.   He  is  not  my  brother. 

Am.  Well,  don't  be  angry  with  him ;  if  he  has  behaved  un- 
like one.  you  will  forgive  him.  He  is  gone  but  tor  an  instant, 
he  will  soon  return. 

El.   Oh.  no,  he  will  never  come  again  ! 

Am.  Never  come  again  ? 

El.  No,  he  has  gone  from  me  forever  ! 

Am.  Nonsense,  he'll  be  here  directly.  I'll  calx  him  back. 
I'll  insure  him  at  any  risk.  I  have  to  receive  you  from  his 
hand. 

El.  Ha! 

Am.  {Runs  for  a  chair.)  You  are  still  faint.  Then  sit 
down  and  revive  your  spirits.  I'll  follow  your  brother — he 
loves  you  beyond  any  being  in  the  world — he's  not  gone  far. 
I'll  fiud  him — I'll  tell  him  you  are  sick,  you  are  dying — I'll 
tell  him  you're  already  dead.     I'll  bring  him  directly. 

[Exit  c. 

El.  Oh,  miserable,  miserable  Elinor!  why  too  late  have 
you  been  told  the  fatal  secret !  Too  late  !  too  late  !  Must 
I  then  be  another's.  Never,  never!  No.  Herbert,  no,  my 
only  thought.  I  have  ever  been  thine,  and  will  be  thine 
alone. 


THE   TWO    FRIENDS.  37 

Enter  Ambrose  and  Herbert. 

El    Ah.  he  conies,  ray  own  beloved  Herbert.  (Embraces) 

Am.  Ay,  (here  he  is.  be  happy  ! 

Her    Heard  I  aright — beloved — beloved  by  Elinor? 

El,  Yes,  Herbert,  since  you  have  discovered  to  me  that 
you  are  not  my  brother,  I  will  no  longer  conceal  the  secret 
of  my  soul,  but  own  that  you  are  the  adored  possessor  of 
my  love. 

Am.  (Astonislied  and  agitated.)  How  !  not  your  brother, 
the  possessor  of  your  love  ? 

El.   Oh,  sir  ! 

Her.  Calm  yourself,  Elinor — speak  not — be  mine  the  task 
to  answer  for  my  conduct. 

Am.   What  is  it  I  have  heard? 

Her.  The  truth. 

Am.  You  are  not  her  brother? 

Her.   I  am  not. 

Am.  You  love  her? 

Hun.   More  than  life. 

Am.  Herbert,  you  called  me  friend,  yet  you  have  deceived 
me  ;  you  received  all  my  confidence — all  your  confidence  has 
been  withheld.  I  could  have  forgiven  you  }rour  anger,  I 
could  have  forgiven  you  my  blighted  hopes,  but  to  have  ex- 
posed me  to  the  torture  of  makiDg  you  both  miserable,  that 
I  never  will  forgive. 

Her.  Hear  me.  Ambrose. 

Am.  I  won't  hear  a  word,  (crosses  to  c.)  By  this  promise, 
this  written  promise  she  is  mine — mine. 

Her.  Stay,Ambrosc,  you  shall  not  stir  ;  by  the  honor  and 
faith  of  man,  you  leave  not  this  house  with  rancor  in  your 
heart. 

Am.  Stand  back,  our  friendship's  over. 

Her.  Ambrose,  I  swear — 

Am.   Why  was  not  this  secret  disclosed  before  ? 

Her  Bear  with  me.  Ambrose — I  couldn't.  Years  ago, 
justice  urged  me  to  disclose  all,  and  tell  Elinor  herself,  tnat 
she  was  not  my  sister,  but  I  could  not  endure  to  renounce  the 
dear  tie  that  perhaps  would  have  parted  us  forever.  Accus- 
tomed to  have  her  near  me,  she  became  necessary  to  my  hap- 
piness.    As  she  grew  up.  the  fear  of  a  disclosure  kept  me  still 


38  THE   TWO   FRIENDS. 

silent,  and  longer  might  this  concealment  have  lasted  but  for 
the  events  of  this  day. 

Am.  If  not  your  sister,  who  is  Elinor  1  who  are  her  rela- 
tives 1 

Her.  I  know  not.  I  received  her  from  the  arms  of  her 
mother,  fourteen  years  ago. 

Am.  From  whom  1 

Her.   Her  only  surviving  parent. 

Am.  Go  on  ! 

El.  Proceed,  Herbert;  pray,  proceed. 

Her.  Fourteen  years  ago,  I  began  my  wild  career  of  lifo 
on  board  of  a  privateer.  I  was  perhaps  the  wildest  and  most 
reckless  youth  in  the  service.  Feared  by  my  comrades  for 
my  boldness,  and  disliked  for  in}'  superiority,  I  was  on  the 
point  of  falling  a  victim  to  treachery,  when  one  day  we  board- 
ed a  Galleon,  richly  laden.  The  action  was  terrible,  and  in 
the  moment  of  victory  the  conquered  ship  became  a  blaze  of 
fire.  Led  by  a  female  shriek,  I  darted  into  the  cabin  and 
snatched  up  a  woman  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  apparently 
four  or  five  years  old.  The  flames  came  rapidly  on  the 
magazine,  which  rendered  further  assistance  to  those  on  board, 
hopeless.  The  vessel  was  abandoned  to  the  devouring  ele- 
ment, and  in  a  few  moments  her  disjointed  planks  floated  on 
the  water. 

Am.   Fourteen  years  ago,  say  you  ? 

Her.  Fourteen.  The  woman  I  saved  was  evidently  dying. 
She  called  me  to  her  side,  and  inquired,  "  Brave  youth,  who 
are  you  ?"  Herbert,  a  simple  sailor  "Herbert,  I  bequeath 
my  daughter  to  you,  she  will  shortly  be  an  orphan,  she  has 
relations  in  Russia,  this  small  casket  contains  information  of 
them.  Abandon  her  not,  be  to  her  a  protector — a  brother — 
and  forget  not  that  a  day  will  come,  when  an  account  will  be 
required  at  your  hands." 

Am.  Where  is  that  casket? 

Her.  Lost,  in  the  confusion  of  the  moment  it  fell  over- 
board I  looked  upon  the  dying  mother,  as  she  implored 
Heaven's  blessing  on  her  child,  and  became  from  that  moment 
a  better  man.  I  disembarked  with  my  little  treasure  on  my 
arm— I  called  her  sister,  and  for  seven  years  all  I  gained  in 
my  sea  cruises  was  devoted  to  her  education.  She  was  about 
ten,  and  I  twenty-three,  when  we  became  acquainted  with  you, 
you.  my  only  friend — with  whom  for  upwards  of  seven  years 
we  have  lived  in  happiness  and  friendship. 


THE    TWO    FRIENDS.  39 

Am.  Herbert,  tell  rue,  what  was  the  name  of  the  conquered 
ve=sel 1 

Her.  Name,  let  me  remember. 

Am.   Was  it  the  Argonaut  ? 

Her.  It  was. 

Am.  Merciful  heaven  ! 

Her.  Ambrose,  my  friend,  why  this  agitation? 

Am.  In  that  very  vessel,  fourteen  years  ago,  my  mother, 
with  her  female  child,  and  all  on  board,  was  reported  to  have 
perished.  Oh,  that  some  clue  would  lead  to  the  disclosure 
of  Elinor's  real  name  ! 

Her.  That  is  hopeless.  {Goes  to  the  bweau  and  takes  out 
pappr  and  miniature.')  In  case  of  my  death  I  had  written 
down  here,  every  particular  of  that  dreadful  hour, — this  min- 
iature was  round  Elinor's  neck. 

Am.  {Taking  it.)  'Twas  her  mother's.  (Crosses  to  El- 
inor.) Elinor,  sister,  sister  !  rightly  did  nature  incite  me  to 
love  you.     Herbert,  bless  you.  bless  you,  for  this  gift. 

Her.  Ambrose,  I  cannot  speak,  the  brother  of  my  friend* 
ship,  the  woman  of  my  adoration.      I  am  supremely  happy. 

[Ready  to  strike  ttoo  o'clock. 

Enter  Rose  and  Valentine,  c.  d. 

Rost:.  'Tis  two  o'clock,  brother,  the  coach  is  at  the  door, 
make  haste,  or  we  shall  not  be  married  at  all. 

Val.  I  shall  die  if  you  don't  be  quick. 

Am.  Rose,  I  have  lost  a  wife,  but  I  have  found  a  sister. 

Rose.   A  sister  !  dear,  I'm  so  happy. 

Am.  Ay.  Elinor,  she  is  our  sister.  [Ladies  embrace. 

Val.  Well,  I  declare,  that's  another  surprise,  on  my  wed- 
ding-day. 

El.  Oh  !  my  brother  !  my  husband  !  now  my  lot  i„-  blessed 
indeed. 

Am.  Herbert,  nobly  have  you  deserved  my  sister.  There, 
she  is  your's — we  shall  be  brother's  still,  you  see ;  your  Elin- 
or is  mine,  my  Elinor  is  your's.  May  our  partnership  flour- 
ish, and  guided  by  the  Rule  of  Three,  may  our  accounts  be 
duly  kept,  our  products  multiplied,  and  let  us  still  hope  to 
maintain  the  credit  of  this  our  old  established  house,  so  that  the 
public  at  large  may  not  refuse  to  answer  our  drafts,  when 
they  see  at  the  bottom  of  our  bills  the  joint  names  of  the 


THE    TWO    FIUKND3.  40 

DISPOSITION  OF  THE  CHARACTERS. 


> 


CURTAIN. 


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A  A 


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